


Narrowly Avoiding Feline Scurvy

by fiction_mist



Series: Unstoppable Force (Superpowers) vs. Immovable Object (Useless Lesbians) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Cats, F/F, Gen, I am 21 and nudity is still the height of comedy, Natasha Romanov Can't Cook, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov gets a hug, Reader Is A Mom Friend, Reader-Insert, Shapeshifter Reader, There's A Tag For That, Useless Lesbians, and they were roomates, improper cat parenting, magic probably, quarantine writing 2k20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiction_mist/pseuds/fiction_mist
Summary: There is a cat in Natasha’s apartment.This is unusual as Natasha does not own a cat, and, as far as she knows, neither do you.orYou've been off-grid on a mission for a week, and Natasha definitely misses your cooking, not you. What? No, don't be ridiculous, of course she's not wearing your hoodie.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Reader, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Unstoppable Force (Superpowers) vs. Immovable Object (Useless Lesbians) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601062
Comments: 2
Kudos: 107





	Narrowly Avoiding Feline Scurvy

There is a cat in Natasha’s apartment. 

This is unusual as Natasha does not own a cat, and, as far as she knows, neither do you.

It’s also unusual because the cat appears to be waiting for her, sat up straight in the hallway and seems to be asking her _and what sort of time do you call this?_

The look on the sleek black cat’s face is so reminiscent of your face when she’s late coming back from a briefing, or a mission, or a night out with Clint, that she shrinks slightly before remembering she doesn’t answer to a cat, shakes her head at how used to having you around she’s become, and, frowning, walks past the cat to take her takeout to the kitchen.

You’ve been away on a top-secret, no-contact mission for just over a week, she’s doesn’t even know what it’s about, only that it required you and your shifting powers specifically. It’s your first since moving up to her floor of the tower - after complaining about walking _all that way_ (into and out of the elevator) any time you wanted to bug her - and she’s already really missing your company. And your cooking. But honestly, mostly your company; someone waiting to ask her how her day was with a cup of tea and an overly thought-out playlist in the background. 

And if she’s been wearing your hoodie all day, it’s because the laundry got mixed up, _not_ because she went into your room and picked it up off the floor because she’s missed the way you wrap her right up in a hug until all she feels is warmth and all she smells is you.  
It’s only once she’s dumped everything into one big bowl, your voice in her head calling her an _absolute heathen_ , and brought it to the sofa with her to eat while watching the kind of trashy TV she pretends to hate whenever you’re around, that she realises the cat is now sat on the sofa looking as judgmental as a cat possibly can, and when the Love Island intro starts she could’ve sworn it raised an eyebrow – _do cats even have eyebrows?_

Where the cat came from and how it got into one of the most secure buildings in the world seems like a question for tomorrow, so she turns up the volume and digs into her sweet and sour egg fried Singapore satay crispy fried chicken duck noodle rice on skewers rolls. 

She wakes up halfway through Ice Road Truckers to find the cat fighting with the bowl, every time a paw comes out to try and get at the scraps, the bowl spins away from it. Rubbing at her eyes, Natasha takes pity on it, picking out a soggy prawn cracker and holding it out to the cat, who looks almost embarrassed as it nibbles at it. 

She looks at the tv as she scritches between the soft ears. 

4:37 am.

Time to properly go to sleep.

After a moment’s deliberation, she lies back down, emptying the remaining prawn crackers onto the floor. Her room is _all the way over there_ and this time you’re not there to nag her to go to bed for the sake of her joints, so what’s to stop her. 

10 minutes later, just as she’s dozing off, there’s a tickly nudging at her foot. She nudges it right back. 

Then the meowing starts. 

Natasha stubbornly covers her head. She will not be bossed around by the world’s most judgmental stray. 

Then there is a weight on the cushion and a single claw digging into the hand gripping it tightly over her ears. That’s just not fair. Natasha growls and tries to tug herself free, but the demonic fluffball just starts moving around on the cushion, meowing throughout. That’s it.

She shoots up, swinging her legs out.

‘Fine! Fine, I’m going, I’m going, shut up!’ she whines, with all the dignity she can muster while wearing her roommate’s clothes, one foot in dinner debris, and a _cat_ sending her to bed.

‘I’m going, _Liho_ ’ she hisses, remembering the stories that had always creeped her out as a child. Now it seems appropriate for the misfortune of this cat turning up when she just wants some time alone. Or time with you. Either way, she’s not getting that, and while your absence may not _technically_ be the cat’s fault, she’s looking for someone to direct her grumpiness at and the cat will do for now.

The cat follows her right to her bedroom door, making sure she does as she promised.

Maybe the cat has her best interests at heart. That is a ridiculous thought and she really needs to get some sleep.

Liho stops outside her door, looking up at Natasha as if in question. Natasha scowls at them.

Then she thinks about how cold her bed is. Thinks about how much she misses you barging into her life and filling it with hugs and homecooked meals and _warmth_. 

She looks down at the fluffy cat, sighs, and pushes the door wide open again, shrugging towards the bed. She quickly falls asleep with fluff wrapped around her neck and the thought in her head that she’d expected a stray cat to smell much worse and much less comforting.

Aside from the minor hurdles of waking up with a cat’s ass in her face and Liho remaining unforthcoming about how exactly she’s ended up in Natasha’s life, the two of them settle pretty smoothly into a routine over the next few days.

Natasha gets up early to train, leaving Liho the remains of her breakfast to eat (soggy cereal, generally, but judging by the milk moustache the cat has when Natasha returns every morning she (Natasha is now around 80% sure Liho is a she) doesn’t mind), gets back, pretends not to like the cat for a bit, then feeds her some sandwich and _definitely doesn’t give her little kisses_ while she reads or works or watches more trash tv. Sometimes Liho follows her around the tower, and a surprising number of people either don’t notice or don’t care that the Black Widow seems to have become a Cat Mom. 

In the evenings she spoons some of whatever dinner she’s cobbled together from takeout, other avengers’ leftovers, and her limited (to sandwiches) culinary know-how onto a small plastic plate which sits next to her own for Liho to nibble at while she eats. After a couple repeats of the first nights battle to get Natasha to her own bed, she accepts the state of affairs and lets Liho lead her to bed at a semi-reasonable time, where she falls asleep with the little black cat asleep on her chest.

A few days later when Steve and Bucky ask about the cat perched on her shoulder, Natasha’s explanation is mostly made up of (careful) shrugging, and some quiet smugness when she notices Bucky’s quiet chuckle at the name Liho. 

The little smirk gets wiped off her face when Steve so casually says ‘Oh, I just figured she was back from her mission’.

That makes Natasha stop for a minute and thinks about the numerous times Liho has taken care of her, nagged her, and made her smile the past few days, and looks up to where the cat has stopped nudging at Bucky’s stubble and is now looking straight at her. 

Steve presumably takes Natasha’s sudden silence as concern for your wellbeing, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder. 

‘I’m sure we’ll hear from her soon, Nat, don’t worry,’ he says, giving her a pat.  
She blinks up at him, plasters on a smile, then takes “Liho” and heads back up to your apartment.

She sits the two of you down on the sofa and, scratching between your fluffy ears, tries to get some answers.

‘So, the mission finished?’ 

You walk around indecisively, which Natasha takes to mean it’s complicated.

She sighs, her lips pursed.

‘I take it you’re stuck like this.’

You swing your head up towards her, a _duh_ plain as anything on your little feline face.

‘Don’t look at me like that! You’ve not exactly been helpful yourself! You couldn’t even have _tried_ to tell me?’

At that the cat in front of her looks down, stretches out and rests her head between her paws, _adorably sheepish_ , Natasha thinks, _stay on task_ , years of training say. Suddenly you look downtrodden, look ashamed. Being stuck as a cat, unable to communicate, reliant on Natasha (who hasn’t exactly been the perfect pet parent), and with the guilty, frustrated feelings she knows you get whenever a mission doesn’t go to plan.

She’s never seen a cat look so close to tears.

Instinctively, she reaches out to stroke between your ears, and then instead picks you up and holds you to her chest, smoothing your fur and planting little kisses on your head, a stream of quiet apologies flowing from her mouth as you purr against her. That night the two of you are both too exhausted to make it to Natasha’s room, falling asleep curled up to each other on the sofa.

Sunlight streams into the living room. It’s warm. It’s really warm. Natasha is absolutely _boiling_ , and with her eyes still closed tries to roll out of the hot spot, at which point she tumbles to the floor, becoming immediately aware of another body tangled up with hers.

She opens her eyes.

She immediately closes them again, one hand covering them tightly as she starts to wildly gesticulate with the over at the very sleepy, very human, very _naked_ you in front of her.

As she spouts rapid-fire, incredulous ‘WHAT?’s in English, Russian, and about six other languages, you wipe the sleep from your eyes and blink up at the apparently freaking out spy sat across from you.

‘Mornin’ Tasha.’

She stops, lowers her hand, and looks you in the eyes with a look on her face you can’t help but reach across and pull her into your arms, ignoring the fact you’re currently naked as the day you were born.

‘Tasha, everything’s okay, it was just a weird week,’ you reassure her, feeling definite tears on your shoulder.

Eventually she seems to calm down slightly, and pulls back, avoiding looking at you as she shyly admits ‘I really missed you this past week,’ and part of you just _shatters_ at the sight of this absolutely badass, ridiculously capable woman who you’ve looked up to for years looking so _lost_ at the thought of a life without you in it. You want to smother her in love and hugs and kisses and warm home-cooked meals and soft blankets and be there every day to ask how she is and prove that you’re not going anywhere as long as she still wants you there.

But Natasha hates wallowing in emotion.

So instead, you whisper ‘I missed you too’ conspiratorially in her ear, give her a quick kiss on the cheek, wink, and as you walk towards the kitchen with a shake of your ass _just_ subtle enough for plausible deniability, call out over your shoulder ‘loved all the kisses but your cat caring definitely needs work, I’m amazed I didn’t get feline scurvy!’

Natasha Romanoff, ex-assassin, The Black Widow, sits back on her haunches, blinking, mouth slightly open, hit with the realisation that she is absolutely smitten with this total dork.

‘The hell did you do with the salad I made?’ she hears from the kitchen.

A smile spreads across her face. Smitten could be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, reader being naked is apparently my humour default.


End file.
